


Bromine and Dark

by MayContainBlueberries



Category: EOS 10 (Podcast)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Swimming, This sounds super heavy but it's also fluffy okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 11:39:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16367180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayContainBlueberries/pseuds/MayContainBlueberries
Summary: Sometimes you just gotta write about two dorks making out in a pool.Takes place sometime in S2.





	Bromine and Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Nearly a good third of this is just about swimming fight me.  
> Shout-out to Julianna "The Void" EstherRoberts for reminding me to maximize the self-indulgence factor.

The station doesn’t really have a nighttime per-se what with every species' circadian rhythms colliding and various shifts overlapping and when you’re out in space it’s always dark…but the rec centre is closed now and only the emergency lights are on and the Interface lets him into the pool, doors opening silently, with only a, “Have a good swim, Ryan.”

He mutters his thanks, leaves his clothes and towel at the edge of the deck. And stands, poised, at the side of the pool. The lane ropes are in, ready for swim team practice at 0530. The underwater lights give the pool a gentle blue glow, barely filling the cavernous space, leaving the deck in shadows and the far corners of the ceiling wreathed in a soft black.

It’s what he needs right now, the filters bubbling quietly in the silence, the darkness holding him and hiding him like a blanket.

He jumps, feet first, into the pool, pushes off the bottom. He breaks the surface in a streamline and begins to pull, barely moving his legs, keeping his head down. He feels like the water is bearing him along, like they are working together, him and it, to propel him to the other end of the pool where he tucks into a flip turn, gives one dolphin kick off the wall, and begins to pull again. One-two-three and he finally breathes. The light is rippling now, casting moving patters on the bottom of the pool, spilling onto the deck. The bromine stings his nose slightly, and the seal of his goggles is not-quite-perfect, a little bit of water pooling in them.

This is all he is, the sensations, the rhythmic breathing, the barest flutter of his legs, the burst of speed as he pushes from the wall.

1000 metres later he stops at the wall, just this side of too warm, muscles pleasantly waking up. He adjusts his goggles and leans against the wall, staring down the length of the pool. When he’s not focused on his rhythm, on counting his distance in 50 metre segments, when he’s not losing himself to the feeling of the water, his thoughts begin to speak up and. Okay. Time for a sprint set then.

The next time he stops at the wall – stops for good, not waiting for the pace clock to count him down again – he is panting and also he is. Not alone.

He can barely make out the shadowed figure standing against the lighter shadows of the wall, so he ignores it and swims a 400 cool down.

When he again ends up at the wall the figure is sitting at the other side, midway down the pool, legs dangling in the water and Ryan recognizes his face.

“The rec centre’s closed,” he says.

“I know,” the figure replies.

“Not that that would stop you,” Ryan says.

“No,” Akmazian agrees.

Ryan swims over, under the lane ropes, props his elbows on the wall beside Akmazian.

His pants are rolled up to his knees and he’s not wearing his ridiculous robin hood cloak and the pool lights dance over his face.

“Why don’t you come in,” Ryan says.

“Can’t swim,” Akmazian replies.

Ryan snorts, before he realizes Akmazian is serious.

“When would I ever need to swim?” Akmazian says.

“I dunno. It seems like the kind of thing that would come in handy as a criminal mastermind for, you know, sneaking across moats or whatever,” it sounds stupid as he says it, and he can feel his face heating. He ducks his chin into the water.

Akmazian chuckles, “This ain’t some kind of medieval fantasy.”

That accent is _so_ stupid and Ryan’s face isn’t un-flushing in the water and he says, “Then why are you here?”

And Akmazian doesn’t say anything.

Which is. Fair.

One-handed, he pulls off his cap and goggles and ducks under the water, feeling it brush through his hair and along his scalp. He pulls himself out of the pool and sits beside Akmazian.

Akmazian gives a small huff. “You splashed me.”

Ryan grins and flicks his fingers at Akmazian.

Akmazian kicks at the water, which mostly goes away from them both.

Ryan shakes his head, hair spraying water, causing Akmazian to scramble away with a startled, “C’mon!”

Ryan laughs as Akmazian scoots back over, scowling. “You have an advantage, water boy.”

His scowl doesn’t reach his eyes, which are shining and Ryan can only grin back.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Akmazian huffs, and Ryan feels his face heating again.

Akmazian is giving him _a look_ and he doesn’t quite know what to do about it and something is happening somewhere below his sternum and he slips into the water and dolphin kicks to the middle of the pool. He eggbeaters in place, looking back at Akmazian, who has his head cocked slightly to one side, amused.

“Come and get me now,” Ryan dares.

“That’s definitely cheating,” Akmazian mutters, before standing up and grabbing the edge of his shirt.

Ryan’s eyes widen and for a split-second he thinks, _oh shit he’s stripping,_ before, _calm the fuck down you’re a goddamn doctor,_ before Akmazian reveals something that can best be described as a _bathing costume_.

Ryan bursts into laughter, head thrown back, bobbing in the water, trying not to swallow any.

“What,” he wheezes, “ _century_ is that from?”

Akmazian looks slightly offended, but doesn’t respond, just jumps into the water and dog-paddles over, lifting the lane ropes to duck under them. When he reaches Ryan, he clings to the lane rope, feet scissor-kicking.

“I was led to believe you couldn’t swim,” Ryan says.

“Darlin’”, Akmazian drawls, “you can’t believe _everything_ I say.”

Ryan moves closer, close enough that sometimes his egg-beatering feet will brush Akmazian’s legs. His heart is beating like it wants to _escape_ and his face is definitely flushing and Akmazian is looking at him with those deep eyes, the barest hint of a smile on his face and. Ryan kisses him.

He puts one hand on the lane rope between them and the other on the back of Akmazian’s head and Akmazian raises his hands to Ryan’s face and

“Shit,” Akmazian grabs the lane rope and sputters and chokes and Ryan can’t help but laugh.

“You have,” Akmazian says, wiping water from his eyes, “an unfair advantage.”

Ryan grins and sticks out his tongue and _god_ he wants to kiss him again but, “Shallow end,” he says, tilting his head in its direction.

Ryan skulls lazily down while Akamazian pulls himself hand over hand along the lane rope muttering about doctors with gills and Ryan grins at the ceiling and when they get to the shallow end Ryan slips under the lane rope and pins Akmazian against the wall and kisses him again and he can taste the bromine on both their lips and the water laps around them, glowing from within.

Later, they sit dripping on the deck, feet dangling in the water and Akamazian says, “What are you doing taking a swim at 0200 anyway?”

Ryan flinches because. He had kind of forgotten the nightmare explosions, lying in his dark room in sheets too-hot with fear, mind racing and racing and. “I couldn’t sleep,” he says.

Akmazian hums, “Fair enough.”

Ryan looks down, thinking he’s going to press further, but Akmazian doesn’t say anything for several seconds.

Just when Ryan feels he has to explain, Akmazian says, “The nightmares don’t… They don’t really go away, but they do get less frequent.”

Ryan closes his eyes, breathes out, “I know.”

Again they’re silent.

“I – ” Akmazian starts.

“I just thought,” Ryan interrupts. He shakes his head. “I kind of hoped that I wouldn’t…” He clenches a fist, brings it down softly on the pool deck, tiles sharp edged against his knuckles. “Christ, this would just all be so much easier if I were stoned.”

Akmazian picks up Ryan’s fist and he lets their fingers weave together, lets himself focus on Akmazian’s thumb rubbing circles over the back of his hand.

He leans against Akmazian and sighs.

“You’re gonna be alright,” he says.

“I know,” Ryan replies.

Akmazian presses a kiss to the top of Ryan’s head and he feels himself starting to melt, to relax. He's not alright, but  _this_ , this is something like alright. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be pure fluff but guess what! Apparently I can't write without a lil bit of angst these days! It's fine! Everything Is Fine!


End file.
